Aspie
by Ari the Dodecahedron
Summary: Tony is a genius, but he has his struggles. One of them is autism. (Drabbles featuring autistic!Tony, though more accurately Tony with Asperger's syndrome.) T for mild language, nothing vile (except for the occasional mewling quim).
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: ...I have a bit of a theme going currently. Check my other stories for details. **

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. **

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Living with a bunch of other people makes it hard to keep secrets.

I was surprised that they didn't know by the time they began to arrive, toting bags with clothes, toiletries, and various weapons. Barton, in specific, had two bows and three quivers, along with at least one set of throwing knives. I didn't bother to get a closer look.

As everyone arrived and began unpacking, I spent the majority of my time in my room. Bruce was in the lab, setting up his supplies. Pepper had told everyone to keep away from me for a while, and they respected my wishes.

But I could still hear them.

Steve was arguing with Natasha over the value of pizza. Natasha apparently hated it for some reason, and Steve was yelling at her to give it a try.

"Jarvis, record the next five seconds of audio and play it in the common room for Cap and Widow."

"Certainly, sir."

I take a deep breath. "Both of you are idiots, now SHUT UP!" I scream, trying to keep calm.

I lie back on my bed, reciting equations silently for nearly half an hour. Finally, JARVIS speaks quietly. "Sir, the others invite you to join them for shawarma. I have told them you are too tired, but Dr. Banner has now asked permission to come and see you."

"No," I say, my speech muffled by the pillow.

"Sir, he is coming, despite what I have said. Permission to activate-"

"Yes," I sigh. A minute later, JARVIS speaks again.

"He has passed all defenses, sir. May I mention that he appears to have memorized the schematics?"

I groan, yelling, "Go away! I want to be alone!"

"Tony?"

Bruce opens the door, instantly receiving a pillow to the face. "Tony, are you alright?"

"Leave me alone!" I insist, beginning to sob as I walk toward the bathroom.

"You're autistic, aren't you?" I freeze, turning toward him as he grabs my shoulders firmly. "Let's go, Tony. Lie down. Shh." His calming tone keeps me from punching him as he guides me back to bed. "Do you have a weighted blanket?"

I try to speak, but my throat is raw. Instead, I point to the closet, then up. Bruce understands, and I soon have the fourteen pound blanket over my shivering form.

"I'm going to get some shawarma. I will bring some back for you and put it in the fridge. Do you want anything before I go?"

Water, I sign, hoping he will understand me. Filtered water.

"One minute." I smile faintly as he leaves the room. He knows what I need now. I haven't had a meltdown this bad in years. Afghanistan was the last time anything like this happened. But until the other Avengers get used to my accommodations, I have the feeling that they may become more frequent.

Bruce quickly returns. "Hey," he whispers. "I got your water. We are going to eat there to give you some time alone, but we should be back in about forty minutes. I will tell everyone what you need, especially Steve and Thor. We'll figure this out, won't we?"

That we will, Bruce, I sign. That we will.

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**This is a double update. These will be drabbles and one-shots, nearly totally unconnected. Updates may be sporadic, as I am now writing five fanfictions because my plot bunnies are in the height of breeding season. Now to get the last one to give me a break already and let me finish the first chapter...You get my point.**

**Please review!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

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At eight o'clock that night, I finally leave my room to get something to eat. Everyone's in the common room with the original Star Wars movie on.

Steve is the first person to glance up at me as he grabs a handful of popcorn from Natasha's bowl. "Hey, Stark."

"Hello," I murmur, trying to process the light of the television. "JARVIS, turn the brightness settings on the TV down to ninety percent."

As it dims, I hear grumbles of complaint from the others. "Come on, man, can't we just watch?" Clint calls. "Jerk."

I stiffen, and Bruce leans over to him for a moment, giving me time to process what was said. Jerk: a word with far more power over me than I would like to admit. My father never hesitated to use it to get his point across. And hearing it from a friend? That's-

"Tony. Focus. Shawarma is in the fridge." Bruce is standing next to me. He gets the correct container out after a minute's staring gets me nowhere. "We got chicken for you. How much do you want?" He gets me a knife, and I take some of the filling out of the sandwich before microwaving it for just long enough to get it lukewarm.

As I take my first bite, I feel a disgusting crunch between my teeth, and I feel like gagging. Whose idea was it to put cucumber in this stuff? When we all went together, I specifically asked for that to be eliminated from mine.

"Can't eat it," I mutter. "I'm going to be sick."

Bruce looks at me. "Sorry, but why exactly? I'm not an expert."

"The texture," I call as I walk to the bathroom. I barely have time to reach the toilet before the one bite I swallowed comes back up.

"Sorry, Tony," Bruce says from the doorway. "Would ice cream make up for it?"

"Plain vanilla. Thank you," I say, taking a swig of water from the faucet to rinse the taste of vomit out of my mouth.

I step back into the kitchen, gladly accepting the bowl from Bruce with a quick thanks.

"Now, please tell the others what I actually need, greenie."

He rolls his eyes, calling out to JARVIS to pause the film. Natasha vetoes it, but I whisper my personal override code. Bruce smiles, stepping in front of the others.

"As I mentioned earlier, everybody, Tony is autistic. Remaining questions will be fielded after I have finished this lesson, Steve. This is what many people consider to be a milder form, called Asperger's syndrome. He has no trouble with speech, but he will always struggle with some things. For example, he just vomited a bite of shawarma with cucumber in it because of the texture. This theoretically extends to all five senses. I can't imagine how loud the lot of us must seem to him, and yes, I'm included." I nod as he glances at me, still standing in the kitchen with my elbows on the cool stone of the island. "And of course, he may sometimes appear somewhat socially inept."

"To say the least," Clint mutters.

"I heard that. And also, I can kill you with my brain."

"Shut up, Tony. That's another thing: he has the tendency to quote shows and lines. They are easier to think of, since his brain does not run on words. I think it runs on binary, and that explains his skills, but that may take some research." I laugh loudly.

"And one more thing," I add as Bruce moves to sit down. Everyone turns to look at me. "The suit is a physical necessity sometimes. My muscles are weaker than yours. If I don't talk to you, it's possibly just that my jaw is tired. Ventriloquism doesn't work, Natasha," I call as she opens her mouth.

Everyone laughs, not at me as my childhood memories remind me, but with the genius.

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**Please review!**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Wow! Lots of positive reaction for this story! For anyone who is wondering, this is written from my own experience as an Autistic individual. No, the majority of us are not murderers; it is the same (miniscule) percentage as the whole population. I don't get much support from the people around me when describing life on the spectrum...but internet friends are wondrous! If you ever have any questions about autism, PM me or leave a review. I will provide a Q/A at the end of chapters if there are a lot. **

**There are a couple of stronger words coming up, but not much. Two of them are in this chapter. **

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

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A week after the first of our movie nights, Clint and Steve are in the training room when they call me to come along. I hesitate, worrying about my muscles, as the Arc Reactor can leave me even more physically exhausted than I naturally am. But Steve calls me again, insisting. "We want to know what you're like without the suit to help you move." I agree sullenly, telling JARVIS to monitor my experiments in my absence from the lab.

Taking the elevator down, I have JARVIS put the lights at optimal. As the doors open, Clint walks over. "Steve is setting something up. How bad are you?"

"Bad," I mutter. "Very bad." Clint rolls his eyes, leading me to the ropes course. "No," I say firmly as he opens the doors. "Not falling onto the concrete with my common sense intact."

"Steve's job was setting up a trampoline. Now come on." Clint gestures, and I walk in. I had Dummy set up the ropes with some help from the workers, and I've never seen the course before. It is gigantic, to say the least. Near the center, where the ropes are lowest, Steve is jumping up and down on the aforementioned trampoline, pulling himself up on the ropes each time he gets high enough.

I climb up carefully, Clint right behind me in case I fall. Once my feet are secure on the rim, Steve helps me walk to the center. "Let's get your balance first, alright, Tony?" he asks calmly. He can obviously see my wide eyes and hear my rapid breathing. Slowly, he and Clint get the trampoline moving slightly beneath me. I fall over many times in the next half an hour.

"Didn't you ever get help for this in school?" Clint asks me as Steve goes upstairs to get us snacks.

"No," I respond, shaking my head. "I was too smart, and they refused to give me any help. I still can't swim or run very well, either." Clint grunts as Steve tosses him a water bottle. I try to catch mine, but I miss and it hits my chest. "Damn."

"List all of the things we could help you with, Tony," Steve says as he hands me a granola bar.

"Throwing, catching, running, swimming, kicking..." I trail off, unable to speak while chewing.

"We'll start with some more trampoline in ten minutes," Clint says quietly. I smile in response.

Over the next few days, both of them are spending at least an hour each day teaching me. I slowly gain strength, and my sore muscles at the end of the day are incredible. Steve also comes down into my lab so I can teach him in return, and I make Clint a new quiver with plenty of arrows.

Slowly, my muscles begin to strengthen enough to do physical tasks without the suit. Twice, Steve gets trapped as the trampoline collapses from his impact. Clint has to get Natasha to help him the first time, but a week later, I am capable enough to assist.

The practice I get in ends up being of the utmost importance.

As always, New York is a busy place. One extra visitor in the tower makes no difference...unless that visitor hacks JARVIS and triggers the Apocalypse (well, in my lab, anyway) and some other things while Bruce and I are working inside.

"No," I hear as Bruce goes to see what happened. "No, no, no."

"Deep breaths," I suggest, trying to keep him calm.

"Bad idea, Tony. We're in lockdown." I freeze, calculating how much air we have as the power goes out. "Shit," Bruce mutters unhappily.

"Give me a boost," I say as I look up at the closed vent.

"What?" Bruce looks at me as if I were insane-which I sort of am-before helping me hang from it and pull it open.

The moment I let go, it closes once more.

Bruce can only stare at me as I pull my shirt off, not worrying about the scars. "Now, just like the yearly trade," I mutter. "Out, move, in. Two minutes. Tops." My fingers remove the Arc Reactor from its housing as Bruce yells.

"You'll kill yourself, Tony! What are you doing?"

I grimace, handing it to him. "A minute and a half, Bruce. Give me a boost , plug this in and counter-hack him."

"I'm giving you a physical after this," he insists as he complies.

My muscles strain as I hang. I hear scuffling in the vent, and suspect rats before hearing a familiar voice.

"It'll be alright, Tony. I can't remove the grate, but you're doing an awesome job," Clint mutters. My eyes are closed in tension, so he tells me of Bruce's progress. "He's chasing the guy out. Shh, Tony. He's done." The vent relaxes, and I drop to the floor, gasping. My muscles ache as footsteps approach.

"I'm putting it back in, Tony," Bruce warns me. I nod, taking comfort from his calm touch and the cold metal. I hear the grate clatter, and Clint drops in.

"You okay, Tony, Bruce? What was that?"

"Hacker," I mutter as Bruce hands me my shirt. "Good one, too. I should hire him." Bruce smiles, and the archer snorts in laughter.

"But how didn't you need the Arc Reactor? The pain-" I cut Bruce off.

"I can ignore it. I have too many sensory neurons, too few pain ones. My body compensates by intensifying touch." I look over at Clint, meeting his eyes. "And I could never have stayed up there if you and Capsicle hadn't taught me." Embarrassed, I look down. "Thanks."

"You're welcome, Tony. You're very welcome."

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**Please review with any questions or comments! Prompts are accepted, for this story or for one-shots.**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: I apologize for the long time without an update. My right hand was hurting really bad-to the point where I was using my left hand to hold the mouse when I used the computer-and then school happened. This is a research-based chapter for me. I don't have epilepsy, though it is very common in autistics.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing except the plot.**

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There are some annoying things that go hand in hand with being an Aspie. Food intolerances and sensory problems may be the most common, but I've never been very "normal". So it only seems fitting that I have one of the slightly less common symptoms-epilepsy.

Of course, it's noted in my SHIELD file, and I've taken medicine since I was diagnosed at thirteen. The pill is just part of my daily routine, as is the one for my hyperactivity. But I struggle to remember when to get more, and Pepper isn't always around when I need her.

After everyone's move, though, I knew I needed to try harder. Especially after having a dangerous episode in my workshop after two sleepless nights without meds a month after everyone arrived. Even more so since I couldn't notify JARVIS before it happened, having only two seconds recognized warning myself.

Luckily, Bruce heard the crash of my limp body. His arrival was the only thing preventing me from being ten times worse off.

"Tony?" he called. "I thought I heard something... oh no." He notices my eyes, pleading for help as I drop into unconsciousness. "It's fine, Tony. I'm here. JARVIS, is he epileptic?"

I don't hear anything else.

When I finally raise myself out of the dreary fog, the lights are dimmer and someone is next to me, cradling my head. I try to sit up, but I feel a firm hand on my arm.

"Don't move," Bruce says. "Do any sedatives work well?" I shake my head, grimacing at my migraine.

"Dark, JARVIS. I have enough of a headache."

"Of course, sir. Would you like me to notify anyone else?"

"Not now, J. But do you think you could bring up the seizure file for Bruce?" I mutter as the man helps me lean up against the table. "And are there any more pills?"

"No, sir, but the file is being prepared," the AI responds.

"What do you take?" I hear as the holographic file comes up and Bruce stands to look at it. I gesture, exhausted.

I barely feel it as another seizure begins, barely having the chance to groan "Hey" before I'm pulled back into the void.

The next thing I know, I'm lying in my bed. I count six people gathered around me.

"What-" I mutter, too exhausted to think straight.

"Hey," I hear as Pepper sits down next to me and helps me sit up using the headboard. "Here." She hands me a mug and helps me swallow a sip of coffee. "The pill's dissolved in it. Just drink."

"Thank you," I mutter, recognizing the half-caf blend I use in situations like this. Too much caffeine can prompt another seizure, but I need to be alert enough to recognize them.

"I'm now designated as responsible for keeping track of the pills for you," Bruce says from his place in the corner. "Why didn't you get the meds earlier, for crying out loud?"

"... I sort of forgot," I mutter, giving Pepper the all clear signal and pointing to Bruce.

"He needs space. Everyone but Dr. Banner, please back off until he says otherwise." Everybody nods, and I sigh in relief as they back off.

"Sorry," the three of us say simultaneously. The other two burst out laughing, and I smirk silently.

"Next time, Tony, make sure Jarvis is programmed to recognize a fall and notify whoever's around. Also, have him schedule the next time you'll need more with a few days to spare." I nod, adding Pepper's instructions to my mental to-do list.

I write up a booklet a couple of weeks later after having a couple of small seizures from fireworks over the city. Bruce and I spend an afternoon teaching everyone what to do. First: make sure I am safe on my side, without glass or splinters hurting me or my neck bent at an odd angle (causing a possible concussion, and I've dealt with that enough). Next: time it and notify the others. Once it stops: wait for me to wake up, and keep something for me to drink nearby so I can swallow my emergency pill. We go through a couple of practice drills at Bruce's insistence, and everyone understands their job.

The next seizure takes place nearly two months later. Bruce noticed both of my meds empty (JARVIS's notifications went unheeded after a battle) and sent Steve down the street with explicit instructions on what to do. In the meantime, I was lying on the couch watching Pokemon, trying to keep calm and not run around from my hyperactivity.

"Eyes closed, Tony," I hear Clint call. I glance up at his position in the loft, expecting him to fire an explosive arrow or something. When I glance back at the television, strobe lights are flashing. I raise my hand to tell Clint I've been triggered, and I hear him call out to the others as he climbs down. "TV off, JARVIS," he yells as it begins.

When I come to, Clint is sitting near my feet and Bruce is next to me with water and the pill. "About time," he murmurs, handing the items to me. "You were out for twenty minutes after the seizure."

"How long was it?" I ask, swallowing my mouthful of water.

"Two and a half minutes. Nothing horrible." I nod.

"Thank you." I mean it, too. The others have insisting on practicing extra and having weekly drills, and they have clearly paid off.

"What else would we do for a friend?"

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**A/N: How do you like it? If you have any questions about autism or any ideas or prompts for this story or any of my others, review or PM me!**


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